Troubadour Horror Zone: This is the sixth part of our new horror/thriller series, featuring creatures or myths. We will be posting a new story each week, written by a different author each time, with an introductory essay written by Chris Deal. This week the theme is about voodoo, and the story is written by Bob Pastorella

Essay on voodoo: by Chris Deal

Ask someone, anyone, about voodoo, the Anglicized term for Vodou, and there are two things that people will bring up: zombies and voodoo dolls. Both concepts, as they are in western culture, resemble little
of their actual nature in Haitian Vodou. Zombies, what we think of as corpses that return to some semblance of life in an effort to consume the living, are in the tradition simply people striped of their
individuality and free will to become slaves.

Voodoo dolls, the same as zombies, have evolved from their original intentions to a new sort of cultural touchstone. The way we think of the voodoo doll now is a small figure, meant to signify a particular
person, and the doll is manipulated in such a way as to cause harm to the represented individual, such as sticking the doll with pins to cause the person pain. This is a form of sympathetic magic, a tradition thought by scholars like Joseph Campbell to stretch back to cave paintings found in Northern Africa and parts of France, paintings that were drawn in the Paleolithic era. These cave paintings are believed to have been created by the shamans of Cro-Magnon tribes. It was thought that these paintings represented things that they wanted to happen, that by creating an image of the tribe taking down a large animal, it would happen. The magic was in the resemblance to real life.

In Haitian Vodou, the doll acts not as a representative for someone else, but as messengers to the dead. The dolls are generally nailed, along with a shoe, to a tree near a graveyard in an effort to communicate with the spirits of those that lie there. Dolls were also used in altars, and as figures to represent ancestral spirits or deities.

While Haitian Vodou does not use these dolls as forms of sympathetic magic, that is not to say that in other beliefs systems they are not. As tends to happen when a faith spreads past the borders of its home,
things tend to mutate and change. Vodou came to the New World from African traditions. The word itself came from Dahomey, which is now known as the Republic of Benin, where the word vudu represented a sort
of deity that could intercede in the affairs of the living. The idea of vudu came to the West during the Slave Trade. As is common when one culture comes under the influence of another, particularly if the new culture is dominant, there will be a blending of different aspects of the two traditions. Vodou resulted with influence of Christianity on the traditional beliefs of Western Africa. When Vodou was introduced into America, particularly in the southern states, a new breed of voodoo was formed with the new culture. Vodou mixed with various folk traditions that had long taken root in the South, and Louisiana Voodoo was created.

While Louisiana has several similarities with the Haitian Vodou, thetwo are different enough to be considered separate concepts. Both beliefs hold that there is one supreme deity that does not interfere with life on earth, but at the same time there are many lower spirits who do, and it is these spirits that the two beliefs worship. These lower spirits are generally those of ancestors or even revered practitioners of the past, such as Marie Laveau, the 1830’s Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Her grave is to this day a place of pilgrimage
where many come to ask her spirit for favors, a similar practice to the saints of Catholicism, who are prayed to in hope they would in turn pray to God on behalf of their worshipper. Louisiana Voodoo has the core figure of Papa Legba, who is said to stand on the crossroad between earth and Guinee, the spirit world. Papa Legba is spoken with through the use snakes, an animal popular in presentations of voodoo in the media.

It is from Louisiana Voodoo that the voodoo doll came to the western lexicon. The voodoo doll is a form of gris-gris, an amulet that is mainly used not in malevolent ways, but more as blessings. The inserting of pins into the doll is seen today as a way of causing harm to the person, but started as a way to pin a picture or image of the person to the doll, to represent the person the doll is intended to represent. The doll is then used in spells done to protect or help the person.

It is interesting that when one thinks of the voodoo doll today, one conjures the image of an effigy created for violent and evil reasons. While the doll in both Haitian Vodou and Louisiana voodoo customs is not something of evil or harm, there are many other examples throughout the world where sympathetic magic is used to cause pain. From the Congo Basin in Africa, the concept of Nkisi is an item of sacred medicine. In the practice of Nkisi, the powers of the dead are harnessed in the creation of minkisi, which generally refers to any item that contains the ingredients to conjure this supernatural power, often times shells, horns, or gourds, but there are many examples of human or animal forms created to serve this purpose. While the
practice of Nkisi is generally one done for good, as in any tradition it can be used for evil. A common use of the human-shaped minkisi was to punish criminals.

Another form of sympathetic magic was the fetish in traditional cultures. The fetish is an object imbued with inherent value and power. French philosopher and early sociologist Auguste Comte held that the fetish item was an early stage in the development of religion. By believing an object had power, it was thought that would effect the surrounding world. Another concept, and perhaps one that had the most to do with the concept of the voodoo doll was the poppet, the Middle English spelling of puppet. The poppet was a small doll-like item, carved from roots, potatoes, made of grain or any number of other ingredients. This doll would be the intermediary between the witch and the person, and any spells done to the poppet would be done
to the person.

Though the voodoo doll is not an item of harmful intentions in reality, that does not stop Hollywood from using it in such practices. Perhaps it’s the confusion of different religious practices that continues this idea, perhaps it is simply ignorance.

Voodoo story: Vanita’s Eyes by Bob Pastorella

Though her skin was like ice, sweat dripped off her brow. Three days she’d been in and out of consciousness, in and out of death. Tubes ran from under her nose and arm into machines with digital readouts, the numbers subtracting lower and lower. Every doctor at the hospital visited her, each walking away stunned.

The guys at the job site called every morning and night, wanting to know if there was any change, and a promise to visit soon. They wouldn’t come. When you’re dying, no one wants to watch.

Pacing the hallways didn’t help. Smoking at the rear exit didn’t help either. No matter how many times someone says everything will be all right, it only makes you want to smash skulls open.

The towel in my hand was soaked. Soon the nurse would come, and she would bring me fresh ones. Chandra was sweating so much, I could wring it out and made a puddle. My back was aching from leaning over to wipe her down. She would open her eyes for a second or two, then drift away. I hoped to hear her say something, anything.

A week ago, Chandra was all excited, planning the wedding. There was so much to do, so many things to get in line, and she was doing it with such little help. She started complaining about her left arm tingling. I told her she must have hit it on something, and she said I was probably right. Then her arm went limp. She couldn’t lift it, or feel anything. Before we could get to the doctor’s office, she went blind in her right eye. Not completely blind, more like there was a grey cloth obstructing her view. She said that sometimes there were images in the grey, something moving around.

She said it was like static.

Dr. Hensley admitted her and started blood work. He suspected diabetes, lupus, shingles, Bell’s palsy, cancer, heart disease, every damn disorder and disease under the sun, including the rare illnesses you can get when a monkey flings crap at you, and all he could come up with was, “We don’t know.”

Her internal organs were failing.

She was losing blood from her liver, though they couldn’t figure out why.

She was drifting through a coma, the grey smothering her.

I wiped her brow and she opened her eyes a little.

“Chandra? Can you hear me?”

She nodded. It was very weak, but I could tell she moved her head. I started to call for the nurse when she sat up a little. “Roland,” she said, a whisper.

“Baby.”

Her eyes closed for a second, opened again. “Remember what I told you?”

“What?”

“If something happened?”

“Yes.”

Her eyes closed again, drifting. “Vanita,” she whispered.

She went under. I watched the monitors, praying her blood pressure didn’t drop. Satisfied everything was the same, I stood to get the nurse. A loud vibration came from the nightstand. It was Chandra’s phone. I grabbed it, staring at the number, knowing already who would be calling her. I flipped the phone open. “Vanita,” I said, but before I could say anything else, a loud screech came over the tiny speaker, forcing me to pull the phone away. It sounded like a thousand internet connections firing up all at once. Hitting the END button, I stared at the screen for a second, watching the static, watching something move around in the fuzz.

This was what Chandra saw when she opened her right eye.

With her cell phone in my pocket, I walked out of the room, nearly knocking Dr. Hensley down in the hallway. Hensley was one of those easygoing doctors who never wore a lab coat. With his blue oxford shirt and tan khakis, he looked more like a computer salesman than a physician. “Roland,” he said, “I’ve got her last batch of blood work back.”

“Please tell me some good news.”

“Well, she’s definitely losing blood from her liver. Never seen nothing like it. All the enzyme levels are normal, she’s just losing blood.”

“What’s happening to her?”

“If I knew that, she’d already be out of the woods. If this doesn’t turn around, and fast…”

“What?”

“We may need to notify the rest of the family.”

I closed my eyes.

He gripped my shoulder.

Fighting the urge to shove him away, I said. “I have to go. Won’t be gone long.”

“Roland, this is no time to be leaving. She doesn’t have much time. Days, maybe hours.”

“I’ll be back.”

He gripped my shoulder harder. “Where are you going?”

Shaking my head, I couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. “I have to see someone.”

“Are you going to see her cousin?”

I shook my head.

“Listen, if you’re going to see Vanita, you’re only feeding into Chandra’s beliefs.”

“Like anything else you’ve done has helped,” I said, yelling loud enough two nurses down the hall turned to look. “This is the only thing I can do.”

“This is all she’s talked about since I admitted her. Vanita this, Vanita that.”

Staring up at the ceiling, I fought the rage building inside. After calming down, I looked at him and said, “There’s a lot about her family you don’t know.”

“Every culture has superstitious beliefs.”

“Vanita’s been like this since she was a little girl.”

“Like what?”

Taking a deep breath, I stared at him, getting his full attention. “When they were little girls, Chandra and Vanita practically lived together. Vanita was very vindictive. If things didn’t go her way, she would have a fit and break things around the house, blame it on Chandra. She was not your normal little girl. One time, Vanita wanted to go up into the attic, just to see what was up there. Chandra’s mom would have none of that. Vanita threw a tantrum and ran away.”

“Well, it’s obvious she came back.”

“Yes, but the whole time she was gone, Chandra’s mother couldn’t talk. Not like she refused to talk, more like she lost her voice. When they found Vanita, in the attic of all places, she had a piece of masking tape covering her mouth.”

“So?”

“She found a way to make Chandra’s mom stop talking.”

Hensley shook his head, smiling. “It was nothing more than a coincidence. It’s that, or Chandra’s telling you a whopper of a story.”

“She’s not making it up.”

“You believe her?”

“I don’t know. All I know is my fiancée is dying and no one knows why. Maybe it’s more of what she believes.”

“I’ve heard of psychosomatic disorders causing all kinds of symptoms. Rashes, blindness, even partial paralysis. But this? Nothing like this.”

“Chandra made me promise that if anything happened to her I would go see Vanita.”

Dr. Hensley crossed his arms. “Going to see your ex-girlfriend because you promised Chandra is not going to help. Vanita may be calling her all the time, playing some kind of game with her, because she thinks Chandra took you from her, but that’s all she’s doing.”

“You don’t know her.”

I turned and walked away. Chandra’s phone buzzed in my pocket all the way to my truck. The breakup with Vanita wasn’t smooth, and her taunting had only gotten worse in the last week or so. I figured after eight months she’d just give up. It didn’t help that Chandra was extremely afraid of her, but then, anyone would be, at first glance.

When we first met, Vanita had a black barbed wire tattoo around her bicep and she had her ears pierced. Just the normal stuff. She was fun, outgoing, and maybe just a little eccentric, in a good way, a sexy way. By the time, I left her for good, both arms were sleeved and she had tattoos on her neck and across her back. Fifteen more piercings too, as though she was trying to pin herself down. Her nether region looked like someone’s shiny key ring, tiny charms dangling and chiming when she walked.

One day I came home from work and found her in my bathroom, all sweaty and bloody. Using a fresh razorblade, she had cut lines across her cheeks, starting at her temple down to her jaw line. The cuts healed in a few days, but the scars remained. She changed, withdrew. Eccentric whims became obsessive rituals.

Soon scars covered her arms and legs. It wasn’t to hurt herself, but to make her stronger, or so she said. Then she disappeared one afternoon and didn’t come back to my house for almost a week. When she returned, the little finger from her right hand was gone. She did have a new necklace though. It was a simple chain with a pendant she made by puncturing the chain through the bone in her little finger.

That was when I had enough. I went to the only person I thought could help me with her, Chandra. When Vanita withdrew even more, I guess it was too easy to get close to Chandra. I went to my girlfriend’s cousin for help and ended up falling in love.

Vanita went crazy, busting out all the windows in Chandra’s car and slicing her tires. Endless prank calls at all hours of the night, directed at Chandra.

She would never call me, and when I confronted her about it, she denied everything.

To call the Banerjee residence a house wasn’t right. It was more like a compound or an office complex. I turned into the drive expecting closed gates. Both sides were open. I parked in the circular drive behind Vanita’s beat up Rav 4, walked up to the main house and knocked on the front door.

Chandra’s grandmother, Masilmani Banerjee, opened the door. “Mr. Roland,” she said in her singsong voice, “it is so good to see you. Please come in.”

I stepped inside. The house was one of the nicest in the area, reflecting both modernism outside and their Indian heritage inside. Ornate vases stood in the corners of the rooms, embellishing the paintings on the walls. Bay windows with gauzy curtains only gave a glimpse of the pool and waterfall out back.

“Would you like some refreshments?”

“No thanks.”

Masilmani wore the traditional colorful sari that Chandra and Vanita refused to wear. The younger girls of the family usually opted for dresses or pants suits for work, halter-tops, t-shirts and jeans for play. Though she was over seventy years old, she had the face of a much younger woman with the darkest eyes I’ve ever seen. “Is Chandrakala doing any better?” she asked.

“No. She’s about the same.”

Masilmani shook her head.

“I’m here to see Vanita.”

“Three days she has not answered her door. I am worried for both my girls.”

“Well maybe she’ll answer for me.”

I stepped outside and watched Masilmani shut the door, then walked over to the guesthouse. Vanita lived there as long as I’ve known her, choosing to be close to her family, yet still separate. I pounded on the door, calling her name.

There was no sound from inside.

The door was unlocked. As soon as I stepped inside, I wanted to leave. It was very dark and freezing cold, like walking into a meat locker. The rotten, unclean odor wasn’t helping either. Something was dead, or dying.

Closing the door behind me, I followed the hall to the kitchen. She still didn’t have a refrigerator, but that didn’t stop her from stock piling food she could pop in the microwave. Paper plates cluttered the counter and table, overflowing from the garbage can onto the floor. I flipped the light switch, expecting a million cockroaches to run for cover.

A dark liquid had splattered on the floor and the cabinets near the sink. It took me a few seconds to realize it was blood.

Peering over the edge of the sink, I saw a bloody meat clever and a severed human arm.

White bone protruded from the arm, surrounded by flesh already starting to turn black.

I backed away from the sink, trying to catch my breath. As my heart pounded in my chest, I called out Vanita’s name.

No answer.

Her room was down the hall to the right. I walked slowly, unsure if I even wanted to see what was behind her door. Faint music played in her room. I touched the wooden door and pulled my hands back quick. All the cold in the house was coming from her room.

I tried the knob.

Unlocked.

The odor of rancid, infected flesh nearly slammed me back into the hall. I stepped into her room, watching my breath hang in the air in front of me. The only light in the room came from Vanita’s laptop, open on her computer desk. Piles of dirty clothes surrounded the desk: t-shirts, jeans and sweaters.

On the computer screen was simply a view of the wall opposite the desk. It was a webcam program. She must have been playing around with it earlier. I reached to close the laptop screen when a dirty tattooed hand flung up from the pile of clothes around the desk and grabbed my arm. The hand only had three fingers.

Pulling my hand away, I bent and focused my eyes until I could see Vanita, hiding in the clothes. She was wearing a hoodie, her IPhone in her hand, headphone cable running up under the hoodie. I could barely make out her face.

“What are you doing down there?”

She giggled, reached out and tried to touch me. “I knew you would come to me.”

The rotten stench was coming from her, wave after wave battering my nose.

“There’s an arm in your kitchen sink.”

“I know. It’s Chandra’s now.”

“What?” I grabbed her left arm, tried to pull her up. All I found was an empty sleeve, matted with blood.

The arm in the sink was hers. There was too much blood to see the tattoos.

“Oh my God.”

She set her phone down, reached down beside her and brought up a knife. Blood and pieces of flesh caked the edge of the blade. I watched as she sunk the blade into her side, right where her liver would be, and moved the blade around a little. She pulled it out, stabbed herself again. The floor under her was soaked with her blood.

When she pulled it out again, I knocked the knife from her hand. I pulled her up, and her hoodie fell back. I followed the USB cable from her phone on the floor to the bloody socket where her right eye used to be.

I let go, staring at her close cropped hair, the scars on her face, anything except that empty eye socket.

She smiled, blood smearing her teeth. “Me and Chandra, we’re connected now.”

“Connected? How?”

She pulled the phone up by the cable, held it in front of the laptop screen. “She sees what I see. She feels what I feel. Technology, keeping us in touch.”

Backing away, I extend both arms to keep her away. “You. Need. Help.”

“No Roland, I need you. Soon, she’s going to be gone, and it’ll be just like before. Chandra, can you hear me now?”

I turned and ran out of the house. Masilmani was waiting at the front door, as though she knew I was coming out. “Do not go in there,” I yelled, “just call 911.”

Once I was back on the road to the hospital, Vanita’s words kept going through my head. She sees what I see. She feels what I feel.

The USB cable.

Her phone.

I tried to remember who Chandra’s phone service provider was. If Vanita was using the phone in some way to get at Chandra, I could put a stop to that real fast. Pulling her phone from my pocket, I flipped it open and immediately greeted by that loud screeching sound and a screen full of fuzz. There was something moving in the static. It looked like a face, but it moved too fast to be certain. I snapped the phone shut and flipped it around, staring at the logo imprinted on the battery cover. Grabbing my own phone, I dialed her service provider. I was almost to the hospital when I finally got a human on the other end.

“I’m sorry sir, but only Miss Banerjee can cancel her account.”

“I’m her fiancé, and she’s unable to speak at this time.”

“I understand. Unfortunately, she is the only one listed on the account.”

I snapped the phone shut, disgusted. Immediately my phone rang. It was Dr. Hensley calling from the hospital. “You need to come back quickly.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We may need to notify the whole family. Things are not looking good.”

I hung up and drove the final block, pulling into the EMERGENCY ONLY drive. I ran all the way to her room.

Hensley was already in the room, along with several nurses, all attending to Chandra. The machines hooked into her were blinking red lights, flashing numbers that didn’t make any sense.

“Her vitals are not good. If we can’t get her stabilized, she may go into cardiac arrest,” Hensley said, pointing the nurses around like he was directing traffic.

I watched the nurses shove more IVs into her arms, press electrodes to her face and chest.

None of this was going to help her.

They all needed to get out of the room.

Suddenly Chandra sat up in the bed, screaming. She stared right at me and slammed back into the pillow. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened very wide.

The nurses stopped what they were doing to restrain her.

“Chandra, Chandra, can you hear me?” My voice could barely carry over the din.

Her eyes swirled around in her head, searching for me. “Roland,” she said, “Roland, I can’t see.”

I moved past Hensley and the nurses, reaching for her. “I’m right here baby.”

“I can’t see. I’m blind.”

Vanita.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her eyes continued to look for me.

I gripped her hand, pulled it to my face. “She’s using the phone. I don’t know how, but it’s happening through the phone.”

Chandra shrieked as her body folded in half with pain. The nurses struggled to hold her down. “Oh my God, Roland… make her stop.”

Hensley leaned in close to me. “What are you talking about?”

“You would never understand.”

Dr. Hensley grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s get you outside so we can work on her.”

I whirled around. “And do what? Huh? Nothing you’ve done has helped her at all. She’s dying, and all the medicine in here isn’t working.”

“Calm down,” Hensley said, pushing me back, “yelling at me isn’t helping either.

I shoved him away. “Get out. All of you. Just get out right now.”

The nurses continued to hold her down.

“Out!”

They looked at Dr. Hensley.”

“NOW!”

Dr. Hensley crossed his arms. “Mr. Guidry, you need to calm down, right now.”

“No, get out.”

“We can’t leave her. Relax and be quiet, or you’ll be leaving.”

I balled my fists and rushed Dr. Hensley, but didn’t get far. Two large men came from my side and wrapped their arms around me. Once outside the room, all I could do was pound on the door, screaming her name.

Chandra’s phone rattled in my pocket. I pulled it out and flipped it open.

The static was gone. Vanita grinned at me on the screen.

Bringing the phone down on my knee, I snapped it in half, throwing both pieces on the ground. I stamped the piece closest to me with my boots, shattering it into shards of plastic and glass.

I still could hear her laughing.

It seemed like hours before Hensley opened the door.

I think he said he was sorry.